


What did you do with my heart?

by wordsofaphoenix (encaton19)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Out of Character, POV First Person, Sad Ending, ambiguous - Freeform, kinda based on songs, oops my hand slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/encaton19/pseuds/wordsofaphoenix
Summary: "I match his step forward with a step back, my hands up, palm out, as if to block myself from any further pain. It hurt, before, when I first realized. But now?"





	What did you do with my heart?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was listening to 'Dear Happy' by Dodie Clark (ft. Thomas Sanders) and 'The Things We Used To Share' by Thomas Sanders and I was feeling really angsty so I wrote this.
> 
> I had no specific fandom or pairing in mind when writing because I think I was writing what I would do, and as such I'm still not sold on it being about Derek and Stiles, but it fits as well as any.
> 
> I may end up changing the pairing/deleting this until I figure out if it fits (mostly because it's really OOC to be Derek/Stiles but you know what, I'm just going to go for it)

_"I wouldn't take it back_

_Even though I feel sore_

_I meant it when I said_

_What's mine is yours_

_But I need to know_

_Now that we're apart_

_What did you do with my heart?"_

 

I match his step forward with a step back, my hands up, palm out, as if to block myself from any further pain. It hurt, before, when I first realized. But now? Now I can feel the hard expression I wear like a mask, the piercing cold of my glare as he attempts to reconcile with me.

 

"Please," He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. This used to be amusing. A source of happiness and comfort, the messing up of his hair, from either of us. I would take great pleasure in listening to him fake-whine as I would muss and tug at strands until his carefully styled locks were in complete disarray. "Just...please."

 

It pisses me off, now, that something so simple can bring back such emotions and memories. That this is one shred of normal for him when my life is shattering around me. The life I built, with him.

 

"Don't," I say, anger lacing my voice, snapping it like a whip.

 

There are so many other words I wish to say. So many things I could throw at him, insults and bruising remarks; things I know could hit him where it hurts. I want to. I want to hurt him like he hurt me.

 

But I'm not going to stoop. I'm better than him, always will be. I don't do the types of things he did to me. I don't hurt the people I love.

 

'Claim to love,' I remind myself as my chest twists a little at the idea that he isn't mine, maybe never was.

 

I've thought about this moment, how it would go down. How he would finally tell me he never loved me. Not that I ever thought it would happen. Just that little voice in the back of my head, whispering, planting seeds of self-doubt.

 

It isn't going down how I planned. I pictured him telling me he doesn't love me, never did. And he would walk away. Simple as that, in that moment.

 

I wasn't prepared for begging, for the memories that came flooding in with every word he says and action he does. His hands, his hair, the upset twist of his mouth, the furrow between his brows. The little things.

 

Maybe I was ready to dredge up the big things. The three am conversations about what our wedding would be like, the names of our kids, what animals we would have. I was prepared to remember our first date, first kiss, first time.

 

I wasn't expecting the little things, the things that he reminds me of now, in this moment.

 

The way his fingers curled around mine when he told me he loved me, in the same way they're curling now, closing around empty air as if searching for something never to be there again. The way his hair is falling across his forehead, pulled free of product, the same way it was after we ran through the rain to our favorite bakery.

 

I guess it's the little things that turn out to be the big things. The tiny moments you won't remember the next day but will look back on, maybe in fond remembrance when your kids all move away.

 

Or maybe, in the same way I am right now, with a bitter feeling, a sinking in my stomach, as I realize that what we had wasn't meant to be.

 

Too good to be true? No, it was good, but it wasn't too good. It was just right. Completely, undeniably, perfectly imperfect.

 

He sighs, angry instead of resigned, "Could you just listen to why—"

 

I cut him off with an icy glare and a jerk of my head, something that would prove to be impressive when I'm able to think straight. I'm physically gripping my own wrist in order to stop myself from hitting him. He doesn't have the right to be angry with me for not listening. I listened. I listened while he was with someone else. I listened as he told them I was nothing. And I listened when I thought that maybe I could fix whatever the problem was. I couldn't. I was done listening.

 

We stand there, the silence suffocating, stifling, heavy with emotions and unspoken words. We are unmoving, unspeaking. Neither wanting to say what comes next, what needs to be said.

 

I take a breath, widening my stance as if steadying myself would help me steady how I feel right now. Preparing myself for what I know is coming. What I have to do, what I've known I'd have to do.

 

"We're done."

 

He winces at the words, despite having known they were coming. I can see it in his eyes that this hurt him too, but he brought it upon himself.

 

I give him a bitter smile, because, as thankful as I am for the times we had together, I still know those memories will soon be tainted with the poison that is spreading across everything to do with him.

 

With that, we part ways, he stalks towards his car, head bowed. I just walk to the nearest bench and sit. I close my eyes, listening to the leaves rustling and hum of car engines. I can't go home right now, I can't see him right now.

 

Maybe this was for the best, he didn't respect me as a person, with basic rights, let alone as a significant other to share his life with.

 

It hurts now, but I'll get over it.

 

I'll heal.

 

I'll move on.

 

We're done.


End file.
